


After the Dragons

by Ashesintheair



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jaime/Brienne if you squint but it isn't framed romantically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashesintheair/pseuds/Ashesintheair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime Lannister wants to die. Half of the advisors to the Dragon Queen agree with him and the other half want him sent to the Wall. But Daenerys has no wish to rule Westeros and has an altogether different idea. It doesn't look like a punishment, but to a man who has spent his life running from wielding authority, it's a life sentence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of a half-life, of eating and sleeping, of reading messages and not really taking any of it in. The Others had been driven back, those parts of the Wall that had crumbled were being rebuilt and now, three weeks later, the dragon queen had come south to King’s Landing.

She spent the first day in counsel with her advisers and Jaime didn’t see her. He had the freedom of the Red Keep. He wasn’t exactly a prisoner. Had he any inclination to leave, he might have started to push the boundaries, but he didn’t care. He would wait for the last Targaryen and her judgement and then that would be the end of all of it.

He walked through the corridors – quiet now after so much noise – to try to take his mind off his situation. Anything was better than sitting and waiting. Almost anything. He recognised the shape of his brother as soon as he rounded the corner. Jaime’s mouth dried up and he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even swallow. He had thought about it countless times since he had heard that Tyrion had returned to Westeros but now his brother was stood in front of him, it was suddenly very easy.

Tyrion already had his hand on the short sword he wore and half pulled it from the scabbard.

Jaime looked at him, at the half formed frown on his face, and dropped to his knees. He pulled open the neck of his coat. “Go on then. To the throat, if you don’t mind. On the other hand, if you’d like me to linger on in agony for awhile, best to go for the gut. And try and do a better job of it than our sweet sister did.”

Tyrion’s face turned quizzical at that and he cocked his head. His hand didn’t leave the sword, but his grip loosened. “You really want it that badly?”

Jaime didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what despair felt like. He only knew that he felt numb. For three weeks he had been numb and cold and he could only imagine the most final of endings waiting for him.

“I never thought of you as Cersei’s right hand, you know,” Tyrion said, his voice not warm, but oddly companionable. “I had hoped that you were more than an extension of her. That you would _want_ to be more than that. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in you right this minute.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, maybe I do. It couldn’t have been an easy life to take. Not for you. But maybe I don’t care about that. You deserve to hurt. You deserve to suffer.”

_You don’t know. You don’t know any of it._

“Why did you do it, Jaime?”

Jaime looked his brother straight in his mismatched eyes and his mouth widened in a smile that the old Jaime Lannister would have been proud of. “Oh, jealous rage. What else did you expect?”

Tyrion looked carefully at him a moment, as if he could smell the lie.

_What do you want me to tell you, the truth? That she was as mad as Aerys at the end? That she would have burned King’s Landing to the ground? That she gave a white cloak to a monster? I’ve kept Aerys’ secrets all this time. The least I can do for Cersei is keep hers as safe._ The wench knew, of course. She had been there, outside the door. But Brienne knew about Aerys as well and she knew how to keep her mouth shut. He hadn’t spoken to her since that night – another face he was avoiding.

His brother looked at him, shook his head and walked on past.

Jaime wasn’t sure what that meant, but called out after him. “What’s it like? Up there?”

Tyrion laughed, an ugly little chuckle. “Better than sex,” he called back and Jaime couldn’t quite suppress the smile that came to his lips.

The dragon queen sent for him the next day. He dropped to his knees again in front of her, as quickly as he could so that he wouldn’t have to look at her face.

“You are the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister?” she asked. Her westerosi was lightly accented and the question was a courtesy. She knew exactly who he was, he was sure of that. “Queenslayer as well now.”

He nodded, not trusting the words to come out right.

“You killed my father in this room,” she said and her voice was curiously passionless. She looked towards the iron throne from where she stood in the centre of the hall, but made no move towards it. “You killed my father and now you hand me the seven kingdoms – what’s left of them. What would you have me do, ser? Should I reward you, or take your head? My counsellors are quite divided on the matter.”

Jaime lifted his head and looked at the Targaryen queen for the first time. She was beautiful. He could see why Mormont followed her around like a puppy. She was fair as you could want any saviour queen to be, but her eyes were fierce. She was something ferocious trapped inside a flawless frame and it reminded him of Cersei. He laughed.

“Do you think this is funny?” she bristled.

“No. No, Your Grace. But it strikes me that if Aerys had lived, you might have been someone that I would have been pleased to know. As things stand, I don’t think that’s likely to be a welcome sentiment.”

Jorah started forward, his brow furrowed but Daenerys waved him back. She smiled, not an expression of delight, but one of understanding. “If my father had lived, I understand that a number of things would have been very different. But that doesn’t answer my question of what I should do with you.”

“Do what you like, my Queen. I’ve long since stopped caring for the matter.”

“Ser Jorah says I should take your head, that you’re a kingslayer and a kinslayer and you can’t be trusted. Ser Barristan tells me that as there are only two Lannisters left, I should let you live, that it would be a crime to speed the end one of the great houses. He says that you had it in you to be great, once.”

Jaime eyed up the queen’s bear from across the room. “Truth be told, Your Grace, I suspect Mormont may be a little biased. Tell me, does he let many men come this close to you?”

Jorah didn’t hear the words but certainly got the sentiment from the fuck-you glance Jaime was sending his way.

Dany just laughed again. “My old bear loves me, and looks after me as well as any man. I value his advice, ser. Tread carefully.”

“I’m not known for treading carefully. And you’ve already made up your mind what to do with me. There’s only one thing you can do with me. This is all a show. Just grant me one favour. Have Barristan take my head off. He’ll do a clean job and I don’t want to give your bear the satisfaction of it.”

She changed then and became very serious. “I listen well to my counsellors, but I am the _khaleesi_. Sometimes I do things my own way. I came to Westeros looking for vengeance. I came for that,” she nodded towards the iron throne. “I found that the seven kingdoms needed my help, needed my dragons.”

She looked carefully at him for a time, her violet eyes trying to find something in his face. “I came for your head, Kingslayer.” She was still watching him and Jaime wondered what it was she hoped to see.

“Take it, then. It’s yours,” he said indifferently.

Daenerys didn’t seem to hear him. She was looking at the throne again with distaste in her eyes. “I’ve been told that my father was mad.”

“What of it?”

“It’s true, then?”

He thought of the things he could tell her, of the things he had heard through doors, the burning of Lord Rickard Stark, the pyromancers. There were a hundred things he could say to prove that Aerys was no shining example of kingship. There were a hundred things that would vindicate him, that would perhaps save his life.

“Yes,” he said, and let the shadows of old memories die.

She was looking at him again and he found himself looking for something else to tell her. “I think Rhaegar would have liked you,” he said at last. 

She ignored him again, swinging back to her original subject. “Do I take your head, do I send you to the Wall, or do I go my own way? After all, I’m just a girl and I know little of your Westerosi customs.”

“I doubt there’s anyone who’s likely to argue with you. Introduce them to that black monster of yours.”

She stood and he moved to stand with her before the thought crossed his mind, unsure whether it was out of habit or respect.

“I’ve found many unexpected things in the seven kingdoms. Most surprisingly of all, I find that I like you, ser.” Her words were not friendly and there was no forgiveness there. She was stating facts and put no emotion behind it.

“And my head?”

“You want to lose it too much. I think that you would welcome death with open arms. I don’t want to give you what you want, not today. I need to decide what I want first, perhaps.”


	2. Chapter Two

He was eating breakfast when Tyrion waddled up to the table and set a book down.

“Ale?” the dwarf asked.

“Over there.” Jaime nodded towards the jug at the end of the table and tried to hide the beginnings of curiosity. He hadn’t imagined that Tyrion would want to speak to him again, let alone seek him out.

“There’s a woman outside your door.”

Jaime stared at the grain of the table. _Brienne_.

“I’m not sure whether she’s guarding you or trying to decide whether to come in,” Tyrion continued.

“Probably both,” Jaime said softly. “Has your queen decided what to do with me yet?”

Tyrion drained his cup and shook his head. “She spent the day with Baelish. Seven alone know if he wants you alive or not.”

“How is it that so many people – good people – have died and yet every time I turn around Lord Baelish has climbed a little higher?”

“He’s looking after the interests of the Queen in the North. I’ve asked him to send my regards to sweet Sansa and tell her I consider the marriage to be annulled. I can’t imagine she would concern herself over it, but I owe it to her.”

“Are you advising Daenerys?”

“Sometimes,” Tyrion shrugged.

“Are you advising her about me?”

Tyrion gave him a blunt look. “Do you really want me to?”

“No, I suppose not.”

His brother didn’t say anything else, his energy focused on the food but his eyes kept flicked over Jaime as if trying to make a decision.

“You think you should have died with Cersei.” It wasn’t a question.

“If the knife had been an inch longer, I would have.” The wounds had healed disgustingly well. _I should have shown her how to handle a knife. I should have shown her where to stab a man. I should have made sure there was something longer than that silly little paring knife on the sideboard._

“You’re a self-pitying idiot,” Tyrion said conversationally. “And I’m not sure why I’m trying to talk you out of this foolish notion. You and Cersei both were always in love with the nauseating idea of being mirrors of each other. Still, there’s no one else left and-”

“I think Lancel is around somewhere.”

“Lancel isn’t dead?”

Jaime nearly managed a laugh. Tyrion’s astonishment was nearly comical.

He tilted his head, and then pushed the book over to Jaime with a nod. “Read the third chapter.” He slipped off his chair and walked away.

Jaime looked down at the book in his hands. _A Natural History of the Coasts and Shoreline of Dragonstone, written by Maester Cressen._ He frowned but turned the pages carefully to the third chapter, ‘The Life of the Starfish’, and with a slowness born of unfamiliarity, began to read.

He didn’t know how long he had been there when the door opened again. For a moment, he didn’t move. The book wasn’t that absorbing, the writing was dry and dusty but the information was interesting and he was lost thinking it over.

“Jaime?”

_I have to speak to her again sometime._ Brienne came hesitantly to the side of the table but didn’t sit.

“Why didn’t you go back to Tarth?”

“Because I’m not in your service and I don’t need to take commands from you.”

She had followed him like a shadow after Cersei’s death. It was hard to look at her and push back the feeling of the blood running through his fingers, clamped to his side. It was hard not to remember Brienne pulling the tablecloth from the sideboard and covering his twin with it. It hadn’t taken very long for him to snap at her and send her away. Or at least, he had tried to. Brienne had her own ideas about where she should be and clearly it wasn’t Tarth.

“She hasn’t decided what to do with me,” he told her, steering the conversation away from further argument. “But I think you know how this ends. Don’t get yourself killed trying to do something you heard about in a song.”

“The Red Keep is but lightly guarded. We could leave.”

He looked up at her face. She was serious.

“We could fight our way out and then what? How far and how fast do you think we would have to run from the dragons?”

“It isn’t fair. She doesn’t know. Why won’t you let me tell anyone?” she burst out.

“I think that she knows more than we think she does.” He remembered the way Daenerys had kept looking at him, had asked him to justify his actions. “And you promised me, Brienne.”

She was angry but it was turned inward. “I shouldn’t have promised anything at all.” She turned to go. “And I haven’t given up. I’ll be back later.”

“Good. I’m getting bored of my own company. See if they’ll let you bring a couple of tourney swords.”

She gave a quick glance around the room. “Here?”

“Are you afraid we’ll offend the dragon queen if we scratch up her furniture? I killed her father, I doubt it’s the state of the soft furnishings that’s on her mind.”

Jaime went back to the book, skimming over the pages until he came to the part that he thought Tyrion had wanted him to read.

_The starfish, when struck a blow that severs its body into two halves, does not die. Each half instead grows and becomes a new starfish. Where there was once only one creature, two now thrive in its place._

The master babbled on at length about the subject but Jaime thought that paragraph was the message his brother had wanted to send. It was interesting, but he couldn’t help but think it would be more helpful if he had a greater life expectancy than a few days.

_She might let me take the Black. Perhaps that’s what he means. A new life in the North with the black brothers. No need to die with Cersei. I can fight Others to earn my keep. One handed._ That thought brought him up short. _It will be the shortest ranging in history. More likely I’ll be a watcher on the wall or a steward. Mayhaps I could train some of the green recruits._

It didn’t seem so bad, although he knew it was a slim chance. Still, the Lord Commander was her nephew and the Night’s Watch always needed fresh blood.

Daenerys summoned him again the following day. It was sooner than he expected, but it was better than waiting.

She was in the centre of the throne room again, her eyes on the throne she had crossed an ocean to win. Jorah stood close to the wall with the large man whose name Jaime had never bothered to learn. Jorah’s scowl was in evidence again today. _Interesting._

He knelt once more in front of Daenerys Stormborn and listened to what she had to say.

“Why?” he asked when she finished.

“Because someone has to. Because my nephew will not relinquish his vows and will hold the Wall ‘til he dies. Because you don’t want it. Because you created a good part of the mess that Westeros has become. You should help to set it right.”

He stared up at her incredulously. “Do you know how ridiculous an idea this is?”

“So most of my council have told me at length. Your brother nearly fell off his chair laughing. He says that it is perhaps an interesting way to stop you killing your rulers.” She cocked her head to one side and looked seriously at him. “They don’t see how it could be anything other than a reward. They can’t see it as a punishment, but I think perhaps that you will understand.”

He more than understood. _A yoke around my neck that I do not want._ It wasn’t as quick and easy as an execution – for either of them. As sentences went, there was a sort of justice to it.

“Mormont isn’t happy about this, I take it.”

“Many people are unhappy. But I’m the _khaleesi_ and it’s my decision to make.”

“And you have the dragons.”

Daenerys gave him a thin, humourless smile. “Yes.”

“What will you do now?”

“I want to go home.” For a moment, she looked like a girl again and Jaime wondered what it had been like to grow up in exile. Had she idealised Westeros? What had she thought, surrounded by people who told her that she must return, that it was where she belonged? She looked Westerosi, was schooled in the history, but she wasn’t a queen. She was a _khaleesi_ and she wanted to go home. Had she constructed this entirely so that she could do that? He would never be certain.

“Rise then,” she said and the little girl faded. “Jaime Lannister, King in the South and first of his name.”

“Tell me,” he asked, climbing to his feet, “do I rule in truth or do I take my orders from you?”

“Westeros will never take up slavery. Dorne has seceded; let them go their own way. The Queen in the North stays where she is.” She ticked the items off on her fingers as she went. “Don’t war with either of them, find some other way to settle your grievances. Last, my nephew has command of the Wall and it protects all of you. All of you will support him. His lands have been given over to wildlings so a tithe will be provided to him. He’ll be here to discuss it in a few weeks. Other than that, the south is yours. We will take a master with us to train ravens to fly across the Narrow Sea. Send me word from time to time. Don’t make me wish I had settled for an execution.”

He nodded cautiously. It was like a strange nightmare. He glanced down at his right hand. The stump was still there. _Not a dream, then_.

“We leave in a matter of hours. I’ve been away from my children for too long and I left much unfinished to come here.”

“Grant me one favour, before you leave,” Jaime said, knowing he was pushing his luck.

“Speak it, then I’ll decide if it’s worth granting.”

He told her and she smiled. “Yes.”

It took six men half an hour to drag it onto a cart. Jaime, Daenerys and sundry others followed on horseback to the dragon pits, pressed back into use for the first time in centuries.

Tyrion pushed his horse forward. “You’re mad.”

“It’s been an odd day.”

“You’re going to unmake the symbol of your authority. Do you have any idea how much history is behind it?”

“I know the recent history rather too well,” Jaime said in a low voice. “I know that too many of the recent incumbents have been drunks or monsters. Besides, it’s the throne of the seven kingdoms and I rule only a handful of those. It was forged in dragon fire, let dragon fire melt it down.”

“It won’t stop people fighting over it,” Tyrion said loudly, directing his words at Daenerys. She didn’t turn to look at him. “The power is still there. That’s what drives them, not the damned chair.”

“I don’t believe I heard myself ask for your counsel on this. And I dislike looking at it. Drogon, dracarys!”

The Iron Throne glowed red, then white as the metal sagged and melted, dripping onto the floor. “Make sure they collect the metal when it’s cooled,” the _khaleesi_ said to one of her attendents. “I want it thrown in the sea. It would be too powerful a symbol to leave here.”

“Will you stay with me?” Jaime asked Tyrion as they made their way back to the Red Keep.

Tyrion snorted. “I wasted a good amount of my life on my family. I’ve no wish to waste any more. I go where Daenerys goes.”

“I’m going to need a small council. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“That is abundantly clear. You’ve just burned your throne.”

“Your queen doesn’t sit on a throne, does she? She sits on a bench. All my authority stems from her, so if it’s good enough for her…” he shrugged.

“That may be the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say in some time.” Tyrion shot him a sideways glance. “You’ll probably need a Tyrell. Willas seems to have a good head on his shoulders.”

“Varys? Can I trust him?”

“He’ll give you good information; he knows who put you here. But I wouldn’t ever trust him.”

There was silence for a time.

“Will you ever come back? Casterly Rock is yours now.”

“Casterly Rock has been mine for years and I find Westeros has lost much of its charm. But I think that you might see me again.”


	3. Chapter Three

Filling positions on the Small Council turned out to be the least of Jaime’s worries. Lord Baelish was still haunting the Red Keep like a ghost of Small Council’s past. Brienne showed him into the chamber where Jaime sat with Willas.

“Your Grace,” Littlefinger smiled. “The service was quite special. The High Septon looked like he would have preferred to be holding your funeral service and commending your soul to any god that would touch it. The words quite stuck in his throat.”

Brienne’s eyes narrowed and Jaime’s eyes flickered to her for a moment.

“Can I do something for you, Baelish, or have you come to offer your services to the crown?”

The smirk didn’t leave Littlefinger’s eyes for a moment. “I fear my queen would miss me. And what’s this? The beginnings of a Small Council? War being as monstrous as it is, I imagine you’ll be able to fill all the seats with cripples.”

Brienne, still walking beside Lord Baelish, seemed to lose her footing somehow, tangling her legs with the sword at her side. As she fell, her fist managed to find Littlefinger’s gut and connected hard. When they both struggled back to their feet, Brienne gave a short bow to the man.

“Sorry,Lord Baelish, I seem to have tripped.” Her face was straight and her voice carefully neutral, but Jaime had seen her hand go to Oathkeeper’s hilt as she used the sword to trip herself. It wasn’t like her to be so subtle, but he was at least grateful that she hadn’t openly challenged him. They both had to learn to move in different circles. _Seven hells, I’m King and Brienne is protecting my honour like I’m a gentle maid. I’m stuck in a mummer’s farce. A particularly bad one._

Littlefinger recovered his composure and took a seat. “There was a raven. I believe the Queen of the North will be joining us tomorrow.”

Jaime’s head snapped up. “Tomorrow? You didn’t think to bring this to my attention before?”

Sansa Stark. A visit from her would probably bankrupt him, if Robert’s debts didn’t do it first. There were only rumours about who held the power in the North. Varys had plenty of whispers about the public face but the private one was veiled in shadow and silence. Rumour was rife. Some said Clegane shared the Queen’s bed. Some said Baelish. The more excitable said both. It was darkly whispered that Littlefinger was the puppet master and pulled all the strings, even the Queen’s. A few said that there was a puppet master, yes, but it was Sansa herself. There was little sense to be had from anyone.

“I’m the Hand of the Queen. I don’t answer to you.” The smirk in his eyes flickered for a moment. _He didn’t know. Perhaps the Queen in the North does run her own court._

It filled his head all day. _There will be talks and treaties to sign, boundaries to be agreed upon. There will be days of nothing but talking. It will be long and dull and still it will prove to be a highlight of the coming months._

He slipped away to bed and found Brienne was still shadowing his footsteps.

“Where’s Loras?” he asked

“Ser Loras is the only one left,” she said gently. “He needed to sleep so I said I would watch you in his stead.”

“Six empty spaces to fill.”

She nodded.

A charcoal grey cat rubbed against his legs and leapt up into his arms as he sank into a chair.

“Is that… Tommen’s cat?”

“Ser Pounce. He found his way to me. I’ve no idea why, but he’s adopted me and I don’t have the heart to put him out.”

“He was a sweet child. He didn’t deserve to die.” Brienne’s words were careful and considered, trying to talk around a difficult subject.

“He didn’t deserve a lot of things. If the world was just, he would have had better parents but we must all make do with the dross that we get dealt.” Jaime sighed. “Brienne, I would take it as a favour if you could refrain from assaulting Littlefinger in the future. Seven knows the man makes it a tempting prospect but I need to stay on speaking terms with Sansa Stark.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

“No. Not you, too. I’d like to be Jaime to one person.” Ser Pounce shifted and started a slow, rumbling purr as Jaime scratched his ears. “I should think about gifting Ser Loras with a few brothers. He can’t be the entire Kingsguard, even with you helping him.”

Brienne took a seat and nodded. “Do you know of anyone?”

“No. Not for what I have in mind. I was hoping that you would help me with this.”

She looked quizzically at him.

“I want it restored to what it was before… Well, before I joined. I want a Kingsguard that would make Ser Arthur Dayne weep and wish he was a better man. I want as blinding examples of chivalry as can be found in the seven kingdoms.”

Brienne raised an eyebrow. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that one true knight is very hard to come by. Now you want me to find six? Why must you always set me such impossible tasks? You’re asking for a song, a story.”

“Listen, when I was a boy we had great men, good men, in the lists. The boys dreamed of being them and the maids dreamed of marrying them. In the last few years there have been the Clegane brothers, Mandon Moore and Boros Blount – those stalwart guardians of virtue, and me. It’s time to start again.”

“Then we need to start with boys, perhaps young squires. Loras can probably instil a sense of right and wrong in them.”

“And you. I want you to help him.”

“I’ll ask around, see which squires and pages have excelled in tourneys, but Jaime, they’ll be young and green. I don’t know how much use they will be as a guard.” A thought occurred to her and she frowned. “I hope that isn’t something you’re counting on.”

He remembered her covering Cersei’s face again. It was a vision that kept coming back at the most inopportune times, triggered by anything at all. A particular smell, the way the light fell through the window, it didn’t seem to matter. He remembered screaming. He remembered the things he had said to Brienne.

“You don’t need to worry on that account. There’s too much to do now and too many things that need to be fixed. And Sansa Stark descends on us tomorrow,” he added, with a sigh.

The Maid of Tarth stood awkwardly. “I’ll be outside the door if you need anything.” She hesitated. “Shall I send for the Maester?”

“No. I need my head clear tomorrow.”

He came to regret that later, lost in dreams fuelled by memory, as he had known they would be, but he couldn’t spend every night fuddled on sweetsleep.

Cersei smiled and began to speak. He walked over, put his hand to her throat and her expression changed to one of incandescent fury. Her eyes glowed with it. Her hands came up, scratching at his face, his arm, but she couldn’t force him back. He pushed her back into the sideboard and the bowl of fruit tumbled and spilled over the floor with a hollow ringing noise.

He felt her pulse flutter under his fingers as he squeezed and turned his face away. Her hand came up and yanked at his hair, pulling him back round to face her. She couldn’t speak and didn’t even try, but she didn’t need to. _If you’re going to do this, then you’re going to watch it happen._

So he had watched and wept as she fought him, as the light in her eyes started to dim.

There was a sudden, sharp pain in his side that brought clarity and he looked down to see a small blade in her hand, dark and wet.

Cersei stabbed him again and he gasped, but he had only one hand and it was wrapped around her pale throat.

The knife went in a third time and this time he welcomed the pain. Relief blossomed unexpectedly. _We’ll go out together. It will all be over._

The blade hit the floor with a clatter as his hand tightened and he saw her go. He couldn’t hold her up anymore and let her down to the cold floor as carefully as he could. He slumped back against the wall and slid down it to sit next to her, feeling the chill of the stones creep through his clothes and into his flesh. His hand went to his side absently and the blood welled up between his fingers.

Jaime’s gaze fell at last on the little paring knife that Cersei had dropped and he started to laugh hysterically. _Too small, it’s far too small._

The door opened at the noise and he saw Brienne, saw the horror on her face, and laughed even louder.

He awoke in a cold sweat and the scene replayed every time he closed his eyes. Dawn was a long time in coming and when the cold light started to seep in, he was glad of the excuse to rise.


	4. Chapter Four

Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, arrived with all her retinue before noon. Jaime turned out the household to greet her, such as it was. Many of those who hadn’t left to join Daenerys, Sansa or Arianne Martell were dead. He stood with them and made small talk with Sansa about the journey.

“We were not far away, in any case. There was another trip I needed to make. It wasn’t a hardship to carry on to King’s Landing and I confess, I was a little curious to see it again,” she said pleasantly. It sounded like nothing at all, like the chatter you might expect from a woman still so young, but her eyes were busy. She scanned the people gathered as she spoke, taking in everything.

“We stayed at the Inn at the crossroads,” she said casually.

“I know it.”

“I stopped there on my journey as well,” Lord Baelish chimed in. “There’s a blacksmith running the place now. A blacksmith and his wife.”

Sansa nodded and smoothly changed the subject to the condition of the kingsroad above the neck, and how she intended to fix it.

The rest of the day passed, as Jaime had predicted, in paperwork and negotiations. Sansa said little, Lord Baelish doing most of the talking for her. Lord Manderly sat to her left and Clegane stood at her back. She looked small, surrounded by men, dwarfed by them and so silent that Jaime wondered again whether she was just a figurehead.

Jaime’s own side of the table held only Willas and Ser Loras stood at the door. Still, they did quite well, all things considered. It would take days to properly settle matters and have appropriate documents drawn up, but it was a good start. It was the feast in the evening that would prove the most interesting part of the day.

Sansa sat next to him in icy blue brocade, her hair elegantly dressed. She was far too courteous to comment upon how the meat came carved from the kitchen to Jaime’s plate, but he scowled at the page all the same. One more dependency. He couldn’t cut his own meat and they had put him in charge of a kingdom. He laughed and Sansa’s head turned.

“Something amusing?”

“I’m just trying to make sense of how I ended up at the top table, my Lady.”

She didn’t speak for a time and then her words were with a careful nonchalance. “I have heard that you were searching for me, when I was at the Eyrie.” She leaned across and filled both the goblets in front of them.

“Brienne did the seeking, but I sent her, yes. I promised your mother that I would see you safe.”

“Many things have happened,” she said quietly, soberly. “I am not who I was and that is for the best. Perhaps it ‘s a good thing that you didn’t succeed.” She nodded across the hall. “I see that Mace Tyrell has returned to King’s Landing.”

“I need the Tyrells. It’s easier to be friends with them than to worry about what intrigues they might be hatching. They’re easy friends, they’ve asked for very little.”

“I hear Margaery has returned as well.”

“She’s here, somewhere. I can ask someone to bring her over if you would like to renew your acquaintance.”

Sansa looked amused at that. “I don’t think so. Perhaps later. You don’t know, do you?”

Jaime didn’t answer, but frowned and listened as the smiling Queen in the North laid it all out for him.

“A king needs heirs, so a king must have a queen.” She was filling his goblet again in as many minutes. _Like mother, like daughter. And much good may it do her._

“I’ve no wish to take a wife, least of all Margaery Tyrell,” he said with disgust.

“But you know that you will have to.”

“And what of you? Does the North not need heirs?” he retorted.

“I have an heir,” she said, almost too quiet to be heard above the din of the hall. “My kingdom is not your concern.” Her voice was louder this time. “I can’t have the South in turmoil just because you’re stubborn.”

“I could marry you,” Jaime spat back, suddenly in a foul mood and wishing that Sansa was the empty headed wench that so many rumours had made her out to be.

“I’ve already married one Lannister. I’ve no wish to complete the set. The North has no desire to be reunited with the South.” Her mouth quirked upwards, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Cersei taught me one lesson; I will not share my power with a man. I will find another way. But I’ve needled you enough. Peace, Ser. I will not goad you anymore, but wait and see. I’m but the first to ask you these questions.”

He sought out Varys before he retired, Ser Loras following behind.

“Does the Inn at the Crossroads mean anything to you, Loras?”

“No, Your Grace.” The young man paused. “I believe I’ve heard the Maid of Tarth mention it.”

Ser Pounce jumped down from a window ledge and followed at Jaime’s heels all the way to Varys’ chambers.

“Your Grace, what can I do for you at this late hour?” Varys practically purred.

It had been a decision that he had wanted to pass to someone else. Varys should be dead, Varys deserved to be dead, but Varys was always too useful to kill. Even now. Especially now. Jaime had contemplated restricting his movements, confining him to his room, but it wouldn’t have hindered him if he wanted to cause mischief, so he let the eunuch be and it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“The Queen in the North has been having fun at my expense. I think I would like to return the favour.”

“Alas, my little birds have not flown North in quite some time.” Varys wrung his hands and looked apologetic.

“You must know something.”

“I know the same rumours as everyone else. I also know that there were a small number of northmen who were reluctant to be ruled by a woman. I know that they, or one of their close kin, met with unfortunate accidents or died not long after her coronation. Coincidence, I’m sure.” Varys said in the smooth tone of voice that emphasised it was anything but coincidence.

“Someone must know something.” He turned to leave and paused. “Find out where the Queen went before she came here. She spoke of somewhere she needed to go.”

Varys smiled and bowed low as Jaime walked away. He felt decidedly grubby by association. _I was not made for this. Nothing is straightforward. How am I supposed to learn to think in curves instead of straight lines? Seven Hells take Sansa Stark. I shouldn’t concern myself with this. And yet, I must become better at this or they will run circles around me - her and Baelish both._

Brienne was waiting at the door to his chambers.

“Go and get some sleep,” she said gently to Ser Loras.

“No. Both of you come inside.” The alcohol Sansa had been plying him with had worn off and he was in the mood for some serious drinking now. He poured three goblets from the decanter and settled back into a chair.

“Sit. Have a drink with me.”

Loras did as he asked, but Brienne shook her head. “I’m on duty.”

“You’re not in the Kingsguard, Brienne, and I doubt that the faceless men will be breaking down my door tonight.”

“I doubt that Aerys Targaryen was expecting to die either,” she said simply and rested one hand on her sword hilt as she leaned back against the wall.

“Fine. Stand there and guard my life like it’s a sacred trust, if it makes you happy.”

She flushed slightly and he turned back to Loras. “Tell me about Renly.”

The knight hesitated, took a sip of the wine, and looked into the distance. “I don’t understand. What is it that you wish to know? He was the best of all of them and would have been a great man.”

“I doubt that. Forgive me if I’m wrong but a man who stops at every crossroads and hamlet when there are two armies running rampant over the land does not strike me as the best candidate for kingship.”

For a fleeting moment, he thought that Loras would hit him, but the young man struggled with the anger and contained it, barely. “He was a good man. He was a better man than you,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Of that, I have no doubt. Sometimes I think dying is the best thing that can happen to a man. He never lived long enough to tarnish the ideal.”

“Renly wouldn’t do that,” Brienne said quietly, before Loras could open his mouth.

_What am I doing? I’m arguing about a dead man with his staunchest supporters. This won’t help me and this anger isn’t for them._

“I only wished to know if Renly had made any plans for his rule.” Jaime’s tone was conciliatory, as close as he felt like getting to an apology.

“Why?”

_So that I can steal them_. But he had no real answer to give the younger man and rolled one shoulder in a half shrug.

“I… I don’t recall anything. Do I have leave to go?”

Jaime nodded. _Nothing. Of course not. You were too busy thinking how wonderful it would be to make any plans._ “The Inn at the Crossroads, Brienne,” he said as Loras pulled the door closed. “I don’t suppose you can shed any light on the matter?”

“I know it all too well,” she said and her hand went unconsciously to her cheek. “What do you wish to know?”

“There was something wrong in the way our honoured guest spoke of it.”

“You believe she was lying?”

“I don’t know.”

“When last I was there, it was full of orphans seeking shelter from the war. There was a blacksmith too, a young man. He was one of Robert’s bastards, I’m certain. He looked so much like Renly.”

_Is that it? One of Robert’s bastards? She said she had an heir. Or is she planning to use him to usurp me? She can have the bloody South if she wants it that badly._


	5. Chapter Five

The Queen in the North had been right about one thing. Mace Tyrell requested an audience and, as in need of the Tyrells as he was, Jaime had little choice but to grant it.

“I need to know what you intend to do with Margaery,” Jaime began, not waiting for Mace to start rambling on. “I don’t need anyone using her to spearhead a rebellion.”

The old man’s eyes bulged comically and he spluttered. “Your Grace, Margaery is nothing but loyal.”

“She can be used. Anyone can be used.”

Mace tried to look as though a thought had just occurred to him but dissembling clearly wasn’t a talent that he had any skill with. The man needed to take lessons from Varys.

“There is a simple enough solution. One that would bring you many other benefits, I’m sure. After all, you’ll need an heir, and sooner is better than later.”

“I’m not going to marry Margaery,” he said flatly. _She was right, damn her. She was right. Is this going to be my life now? Lords throwing their daughters at me until I give in and pick one, or pretend that I’m Baelor come again?_

“She’s already proved her worth as a queen and the smallfolk love her. The High Septon will vouchsafe her maidenhead,” Mace persisted.

“Enough.” Jaime slammed his hand down on the tabletop. “Margaery has been a singularly unfortunate bride and I will not have her. It’s a good thing Robb Stark died young or I swear you would have found a way to get her into his bed as well.” Mace had turned beetroot with outrage and Jaime sighed. “Bring her to me. Let me deal with her, face to face.”

It took some time to fetch Margaery and by the time a young squire showed her in, Jaime was contemplating sending for another carafe of wine. A tipsy Mace might be easier to deal with. Loras stood at the door and she turned a warm smile on him before walking forwards to drop an elegant curtsey, keeping her eyes carefully turned down. She was still dressed in mourning, her gown deep black, flecked with hints of dark green from the raven feathers that were delicately stitched into the bodice. It was an artful touch, to provoke memory of Tommen and his fondness for his little queen.

Jaime’s eyes raked over her and tried to find some affront, some flaw that he could get angry over – anger was easier – but there was nothing. There was a sadness in her that was palpable. It could have been nothing more than regret for plans gone awry, or for herself, thrice a widow and, apparently, still a maid. He wanted to believe that it was for Tommen, for the little boy-king that she had delighted with kisses and kittens.

“My lady, I confess that I’m tired and have little interest in small talk at the best of times.”

She lifted her face and met his eyes. The melancholic air was still there, but threads of calculation ran through it.

“I have no plans to make you a wife for a fourth time, whatever the Tyrell ambitions might be.” He ignored the splutter from Mace, remembering instead Cersei railing against the idea of being sold of like chattel. Did Margaery feel the same? Or did she have a lover hidden away somewhere? It didn’t matter. There was only one thing he needed from her now.

“In fact, I have no plans for you to be a wife at all. Not in the immediate future.”

Mace Tyrell spluttered again and Jaime found that however much he needed the man, he couldn’t tolerate him in the room for much longer.

“Ser Loras, would you escort your father out? The air in here seems to be distressing him.”

Loras hesistated. _Now we see… Your father or your king, ser?_ There was the slightest nod from Margaery and Loras moved to gently take his father’s elbow and lead him from the room. _Ah, your sister. The Jaime gambit._

“You must realise that I can’t let you marry, not for a year or two.”

“Of course.” Her look was deferential – to a point, but there was more iron in her voice now. “Any possibility I might be carrying an heir is dangerous for you, but the world is cruel to women alone. I will need a husband to survive, Your Grace.”

“I doubt that the world will trouble a Tyrell daughter overmuch,” Jaime said dryly. “I have terms that you should find favourable.”

“You speak of this as a contract, Your Grace,” she said playfully, taking a seat.

“I think you understand it is exactly that. Between us, we can be frank, can we not?”

“There’s always someone listening,” she said carefully, a wide smile playing on her lips.

Jaime waved a hand dismissively. “Enough of that. I’ve already been schooled in politics by the Queen in the North. I don’t have the stomach for another lesson just yet.” He pulled a piece of parchment towards him and carefully scrawled a few lines on it. He was still slow with his left hand and it would never look better than a childish scrawl at best, but the most he was usually required to do was sign his own name. He had at least mastered that. He pushed the parchment across to her.

Margaery didn’t touch it.

“I think you’ll find it generous – a house in King’s Landing, an estate of your own in the South, an annual income.”

“I need more than that. Gold is easy for a Lannister, and I have thrown my lot in with Lannisters before. It didn’t save me from a trial. My family has gold, Your Grace. I need autonomy. And if you grant me autonomy then I will need protection, status.”

Jaime drummed his fingers on the table. Perhaps it would be no bad thing to tie Margaery’s success and survival to his own.

“You are the Dowager Queen. I see no reason why you can’t retain that title. I will do what I can to see that it commands some respect and you can enjoy whatever status that grants you. The property and income will be in your name – that should give you sufficient independence. Do as you will – live like one of the Sisters, or a life so debauched it makes Varys blush to report it. But no children for two years and any marriage must meet with my approval.”

Margaery’s keen eyes scanned over the parchment. She nodded slowly. “Yes. I can accept that.”

Jaime tried not to let the relief show on his face. _That’s another Tyrell that probably won’t stab me in the back. Probably._


	6. Chapter Six

He waited until the Queen in the North was about to depart with her retinue before he confronted her with what he had discovered.

After a quick, formal goodbye, he leaned in close. “If you’re thinking of coming South again soon with your heir, send me a raven. I’ll happily hand the whole damned kingdom over to both of you.”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had guessed right. There was no change in her voice or expression, but then she was well schooled in the art of political deception. He frowned, unsure of himself for a moment, until he caught a faint tremor in her hand.

“I know all about the Inn at the Crossroads,” he continued and got a small buzz of satisfaction from the way the muscles in her face twitched.

“Leave the Inn alone. They need peace and time to recover from the days of killing.” It was not a plea, but there was a guarded shadow haunting her eyes now.

“So Brienne was right. You have Robert’s bastard hidden away. A little investment for the future.”

For the only time since she had returned to King’s Landing, Sansa Stark looked puzzled and didn’t even try to hide it. She slipped back into the protection of courtesy. “Ser?”

“I could go to the Inn now with twenty men and put an end to this before it begins, if I was of a mind to. And it’s ‘your grace’ now.”

Quite suddenly, Sansa laughed. “Gendry has no wish for a throne. He’s quite content where he is. Leave the Inn alone and he’ll never bother you. He has everything he wants.”

His gut instinct was that she was telling the truth, but there was something that wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was missing something. _They_. She had said ‘they’ before. He opened his mouth to ask but the Queen had already turned away. Perhaps he could find someone to go and poke around at the Inn. Quietly. Someone who didn’t have any reason to lie about what they found.

*****

Another day passed and the tedium returned. Jaime knew that not everyone understood the Dragon Queen’s punishment, but for him to be penned in, to be forced to shoulder some responsibility and to know that all of this was for life was far worse for him than a death that he had never feared. The days filled with boredom and paperwork and politics and stupid people with stupid problems until there was not even an hour to be snatched for training his left hand to the sword.

There was one order of business that he had been dwelling on since Sansa Stark had left, trailed by grubby Northerners. She had told him, as had the Tyrells, but he wasn’t sure quite how to proceed. Sooner, rather than later - that was the key thing - before he had to endure any more speculation on the subject.

“I hope you were not planning to return to Tarth.” He had managed to persuade Brienne to sit, though she still refused to drink.

“I… I have not yet decided.”

“Good.” He hesitated, trying to decide how to present his idea. “You’ve been watching my back since Catelyn Stark set you to the task and I can’t imagine anyone else would have made a better job of it. I need people I trust around me. And I also need a Lord Commander for my Kingsguard. I had thought to make it a Lady Commander, if you are willing. Though if you are not, there is something else I would ask of you.”

Brienne stared. “Ser Loras is surely better suited.”

“Perhaps. But he’s also a Tyrell. If I’m going to get stabbed by my own guard, it should be because I’m a monster, not because a pretty little rose wants to win a throne.”

“Your- Jaime… Once I wanted nothing more than to be in Renly’s Kingsguard, and it brought me only grief in the end. I believed in songs and stories of true knights. That time is past. But you spoke of something else?” She looked quizzically at him and Jaime wanted to still the moment and savour every second of it. It was too rich and he wanted to see her face. It wasn’t a jape though, however much it might sound like one, but he would enjoy her reaction.

“I need an heir, Brienne. And to get an heir, I need a queen.” He wondered briefly if Cersei would have been amused to see him forced into a marriage he didn’t particularly want, as she had been.

The Maid of Tarth turned crimson to the very roots of her straw coloured hair. “Why are you asking me? I’m not… You don’t love me.”

“No. I don’t. But if I must be tethered to someone for the rest of my life, I think I wouldn’t mind if it were you. I don’t love you, but I trust you with my life.”

“But you need an heir,” she said slowly and pointedly.

“Fear not, wench. I’m not looking for a reliable fuck. I’m looking for companionship that doesn’t leave me knawing on my remaining fingers in boredom. There’s no rush, and once you give me an heir, I’ll leave you in peace.”

She looked away, refusing to meet his eye. He didn’t quite understand why. Yes, it was the least romantic proposal ever devised but she had said herself that she was tired of stories and songs. “I’m not a lady. I’ll be a joke. It’s too cruel.”

He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “Brienne, I don’t want a lady. I want someone who is as interested in politics as I am. The pool of people that I like and that I trust is very small. It may even just be you. And if I don’t marry you, somewhere down this interminable road, someone is going to force me to marry a lady. I don’t give a damn what you do or what you wear. Spend every day in armour if you like. It’s an entirely selfish arrangement – you get precious little out of it.”

Her head came up and her gaze met his for a brief moment. “Come to the training yard.”

“What?”

“I once swore I would only marry the man who could beat me in single combat,” she said simply.

“Oh fuck.”

It was as good as a no, he thought as he followed her. Lady Commander of the Kingsguard it would be, then.

Brienne had reached the yard before him and was talking to Podrick. As he reached them, Pod bound Brienne’s right arm behind her back. Jaime raised an eyebrow at her.

“It doesn’t seem fair unless we fight on equal terms.”

“Hardly fair. I’ve fought with my left hand more often than you have. You’re going to let me win.”

She snorted. “I’m not going to _let_ you anything, Lannister.”

He grinned back. Lady Commander or Queen, it would be decided on a duel. Yes, this was what he wanted. It wasn’t romance, but it was the next best thing. This was something he understood, and, if he must continue in the ridiculous farce of his rule, then it could at least be in a court of his own making.

Jaime remembered something that Margaery had said, when he had signed her estate over to her. _It won’t be a golden age. Don’t delude yourself into thinking that, as others have in the past. It will be rebuilding. It will be hard work. It doesn’t matter if you’re good at it or not, no one will ever thank you for it. This isn’t your game. If you ever wish to find any interest in it, change the board, and the pieces. Make it your game._


End file.
